Memorial Day evokes memories of heroes

Monday

May 30, 2011 at 12:01 AMMay 30, 2011 at 10:12 AM

Memorial Day brings about talk of heroism, something usually measured in terms of action on the battlefield. Sometimes, though, heroism is measured by quiet acts in difficult circumstances where a life is saved. I know of two quiet heroes from the Vietnam War.

Memorial Day brings about talk of heroism, something usually measured in terms of action on the battlefield. Sometimes, though, heroism is measured by quiet acts in difficult circumstances where a life is saved. I know of two quiet heroes from the Vietnam War.

The first is Doug Hegdahl. Just prior to being released from a North Vietnamese prison camp in 1969, he memorized the names of 250 American POWs so that he could report they were alive. Up to that point, the POWs feared that no one back home knew for sure if they were still alive and, in fact, no one stateside did. The horror of perhaps being left behind gripped the several hundred downed American airmen held captive by the North Vietnamese.

Hegdahl came to be a POW through the strangest of circumstances. A young sailor aboard a cruiser that was bombarding the North Vietnam coast, he didn't remember the hazards of getting too close to a live 8-inch gun. Out on a midnight stroll, Hegdahl got too close to one of the guns as it was firing. The concussion from the firing gun knocked him overboard, about 5 miles from shore.

The North Vietnamese picked him up, thinking he must be a spy. Certainly, Hegdahl's story about being blown overboard seemed incredible. That, coupled with his exaggerated efforts to appear the village idiot caused his captors to name him, "The Incredibly Stupid One." Because his captors underestimated Hegdahl, he was allowed some degree of freedom and given the job of sweeping the prison grounds. With broom in hand, Hegdahl covertly communicated with other POWs and even managed, when the opportunity was presented, to sabotage a few North Vietnamese trucks by pouring dirt in their gasoline tanks.

When world pressure caused North Vietnam to release a few POWs, Hegdahl seemed an appropriate choice. After all, he was The Incredibly Stupid One, but the pact among the POWs was that no one would break ranks and go home unless all were released.

Despite the pact, the senior ranking POW ordered Hegdahl to go home, for he was the means of letting America know who was incarcerated in North Vietnam. Getting the news home was critical, and so Hegdahl memorized the names of some 250 POWs in a sing-song fashion and made it back with every name.

J.B. Souder, who flew with my squadron while I was still in high school, provides my second example of quiet heroism. Souder was shot down by a North Vietnamese MiG in April 1972. Years prior, he had been awarded the Silver Star for successfully leading his section of F-4 Phantoms in the shoot-down of a North Vietnamese MiG. Ironically, it was his leadership as a POW that is more significant.

Medical supplies and treatment were scant for the POWs. Souder, easily irascible - I met him last summer - demanded better treatment from his captors. Somehow, he succeeded and obtained some medical supplies and allocated them among the sick. While treating his comrades, Souder had to endure the same harassment and brutality that every POW endured, but he wasn't deterred.

As the intensity of the bombing campaign in 1972 and 1973 increased, more B-52 aircraft were downed, and 11 wounded B-52 aircrew were sent to Souder's camp. He took it upon himself to examine their wounds and develop the appropriate treatment, primitive as it was, for each, despite the risk of punishment from prison guards.

One Air Force flier developed a life-threatening impacted bowel. With no medical instruments or guidance, Souder removed the impaction - hardly the stuff of a Rambo movie or the kind of work that readily attracts volunteers, but lifesaving nonetheless. A man with no medical training, except for what little he learned at home, was saving lives.

Souder recalled that his inspiration for survival came from his fellow POWs. He realized soon after being incarcerated that his fellow POWs comprised "the greatest men in the world." His new comrades had been enduring for years the hardships that would become his world. "I never lost sight of that fact, and it sustained me."

Hegdahl and Souder made it back from Vietnam; 56,000 other men didn't. Take a minute to think about them today.

Jack D'Aurora is a Columbus lawyer and flew with the Screaming Eagles of Navy Fighter Squadron 51.